Rocks
by Red River
Summary: I can't take it anymore. I am going to have an answer to this question next time around. Tag to Window of Opportunity.


A/N: Just another short tag exploring what Daniel might have been talking about during the time loop in Window of Opportunity. My take on it

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**Tag: Window of Opportunity**

"Anyway, I'm sorry, but that just happens to be how I feel about it. What do you think?"

Once again, Colonel Jack O'Neill looked up at his archaeologist over a bowl of eternally unfinished Fruit Loops. He dropped his spoon into the milk with a splash, rubbing his eyes with both hands. As he'd known they would, Daniel raised his eyebrows and Carter tipped her head, questioning his silence.

"Sir? Is something wrong?"

"Yes!" Jack announced, hands dropping back to his side. "I can't take it anymore. I am going to have an answer to this question next time around. Daniel—start from the top."

The two other members of SG-1 balked, glancing at each other and then back to him. Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose in the first, mildest stage of aggravation.

"Jack, I've been… I've been talking to you about this for twenty minutes."

"So give me the Spark Notes version," Jack replied, pressing his palms down on the table. "The bullet points. The '_Last time on_.'"

Carter shifted in her seat. "Sir, we're due in a brief—"

"Ah ah ah!" Jack threw up his hand. "Trust me on this one, Carter—the briefing can wait. In fact, why don't you run and tell Hammond we're going to have to push it back a few minutes."

Carter squinted at him uncertainly. "What should I tell him?"

"I don't care," Jack said. "Tell him anything. Tell him I… I choked on my Fruit Loops," he finished, dragging his spoon through the cereal before dropping it again. "Just go. Please."

Carter gave him a strange look, but after a moment she got to her feet, glancing once more at Daniel before she headed for the door of the Commissary. Daniel sat back from his waffles and crossed his arms over his chest, scrutinizing Jack through his glasses.

"Jack, what's this about?"

"Just talk, Daniel," Jack said, drawing out the words. "I promise I'll explain everything later, in… excruciating detail… but for now, just—"

"Talk," Daniel finished with him. He was nodding but still looked skeptical, working his mouth in consideration. Daniel rubbed a hand over his face. "Okay. Well, Carter and I were talking about the more theoretical aspect of our mission, and I mentioned that Rothman and SG-11 had just come back from a planet—ah, P2X841, I think—that has some really amazing limestone deposits in these caves. Rothman explained that he found fragments of indigenous art on pieces of limestone that had been removed from the caves to be used as construction materials. It's really something, actually," the archaeologist added, smiling absently over his waffles. "The fragments of the cave paintings he's been able to analyze are incredible. They're very similar to the cave paintings in Lascaux, in southwestern France, some of the most important Paleolithic cave paintings on Earth…"

"Are you sure this is the Spark Notes version?" Jack interrupted. He had started tapping his fingers against the table, the vibrations shaking his spoon against the bowl. Daniel adjusted his glasses and sidestepped the question.

"Anyway, I was explaining that Rothman says the Turbanians, the indigenous people of P2X841, wouldn't consent to let him look around the rubble from the limestone deposits because that place was held sacred by the gods."

Jack shrugged. "So what?"

Daniel blinked at him, brow furrowed. "Yes, that's… that's exactly what you said. And so then I was just explaining that it's my view that—that knowledge itself is sacred, and that it seems like a shame for the Turbanians not to allow an examination of what is obviously a very important part of their history. I mean, this could even lead us to an understanding of how they came to be on their planet—whether they're from Earth, if they were brought through the Stargate by the Goa'uld…"

Jack was staring at him, mouth drawn, so Daniel started to talk faster, his hands gesturing in wider and wider circles.

"I mean, don't get me wrong—I'm not saying that the Turbanians don't have a right to determine what is and isn't acceptable according to their own traditions and customs. And I'm not trying to say that we should force our way into a place that's obviously very important to them on a spiritual level. But I guess I just feel that there are ways we can compromise that aren't being explored here—ways that these studies can be carried out respectfully and, of course, hand in hand with Turbanians, without cutting ourselves off from the potential of this fantastic knowledge about who their ancestors were, where they came from. I mean, if we had the chance to learn as much about our origins as the Turbanians might learn from a thorough study of these cave paintings… well, I just can't imagine passing that up and I just—I just don't think we should give up on all attempts at communication with them about this. I know our mission centers on defeating the Goa'uld, but shouldn't we devote at least as much time to trying to understand the people on other planets? This is a tremendous piece of history right here, and I don't think we should write it off just because we're not looking at a new weapon or a technological breakthrough!"

Half of the Commissary was looking in their direction now as Daniel stopped speaking, forced to catch his breath after the impassioned speech. The archaeologist exhaled heavily and then rubbed a hand across his forehead.

"So that's… that's what I was saying. Sorry," he added quickly, "I guess I didn't exactly stick to the Spark Notes version, but…" Daniel straightened in his seat. "What do you think?"

Jack sat unmoving for a long moment, staring at his friend of four years. He ran his tongue around his teeth to get the Fruit Loops out.

"Rocks," he said. Daniel blinked and Jack squeezed his eyes shut, the blood pulsing at his temples. "Every ten hours for the last… I don't know how long… you've been asking me about _rocks_ and reciting some kind of—archaeologists' manifesto?"

"Jack, what are you talking about?" Daniel asked. "This is the first time we've ever talked about this."

"I only wish," Jack told him, grinding out every word. He flexed his hands once and then laid them flat on the table, staring straight into Daniel's puzzled eyes. "All right. I hope to God, Daniel, that this is the only time I'm going to say this. I don't care. I couldn't care. I hope the Turbans or the Turpentines or whoever give you the go-ahead to crawl all over their cave paintings and you never ask me this question again, because if you do… somebody _will_ be choking on Fruit Loops." Then he stood up and headed for the door, raking a hand through his graying hair. "Teal'c! We've got to get out of here this cycle!"

The door slammed shut on his heel, leaving his words hanging in the Commissary—neither the first nor the last words of Colonel Jack O'Neill's to get Stargate Command talking.

The end


End file.
